


Skyrim Atmospheres

by FabbuSkull



Series: Chances [2]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Aedra (Elder Scrolls), Bosmer Best Boy, Canon Compliant, Character Growth, Coming Into Ones Own, Daedric Quests (Elder Scrolls), Gen, How Do I Tag, Inspired by Music, Layren is an excitable little creature, Little Dialogue, Origin Story, Other, Pre-Quest, Quest References, Skyrim Main Quest, Skyrim Quest References, Sort Of, Visual Heavy, i do my best
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 07:49:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23967907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FabbuSkull/pseuds/FabbuSkull
Summary: Skyrim was a beautiful place...beautiful and exciting...exciting and dangerous.Layren never got the chance to explore the land he called home growing up as a slave and now, as a free person, he always made time for himself to do so. His experiences changed him, one after the other. Often for the bestSome he found debatable.
Series: Chances [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1696240
Kudos: 5





	Skyrim Atmospheres

**Author's Note:**

> I had a laundry list of stories I wanted to write and share, but none of them came out the way I wanted to...then I was perusing through the Skyrim official score and landed on one of my favorite pieces 'Skyrim Atmospheres' and this not so little number exploded into my brain. 
> 
> Another sort of quick little number, not all will be like that, I swear, but I really loved the visuals I had as I wrote this, especially when the music continued to play in my head. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy. I absolutely had a wonderful time writing this and I hope it payed off beautifully.

Skyrim was beautiful....beautiful and dangerous...and horribly thrilling. No matter how many times he'd go out on his own adventures, it never ceased to amaze him.

This had to have been his fourth time stopping on the roads just to admire the world around him; the tree that had leaves blowing so softly with the gentle breeze, the comforting sounds of the creeks and rivers he passed by on occasion, even the animals were a peaceful replacement for the people he found himself missing back in Riften. That thought alone made Layren smile as he pet a fox that came up to him for a brief moment before scurrying away.

It had been Layrens idea in the beginning to take a break from the Guild after Mercer's death, just to explore the world he never imagine he'd see back in his old life. Traveling back then consisted of the occasional bag over his head with a hole to breath from or a blindfold that covered his pointed ears so he couldn't even hear nature, something his people were rather close in tune with, as he learned from the archer in the guild.

Now...now he could see everything, hear everything...and he fell in love with the world when he left for his first job out of the city months ago. And so quickly did he continue to admire the world even now from the moment he set out from Riften with a pack full of equipment, a satchel of lock picks and daggers (just in case), two black swords attached to his hip and the unusually bright blessing of his mentor, Brynjolf. The Nord understood the Elf's eagerness to get out an discover himself in a world he never knew about.

After killing Mercer and establishing proper ties with the major cities within the guild references, Brynjolf had to admit, even out loud, that Layren had something of a wanderlust in him, given how he always came back from jobs with stories, not unlike the ones he'd hear from the others, but something about the way the elf's crimson eyes just glistened as he spoke gave the Nord a reason to let the boy go for a while. The Guild was back on it's feet, flooded with more coin and respect than they knew what to do with. And with the Skeleton Key back where it belonged, they had the grace of Nocturnal at their backs once again, something Karliah had nearly wept over when it was all said and done.

And it was all thanks to this little elfling he stumbled across months prior, trying to break into the Black-Briar house....funny how life happens.

Layren smiled to himself, pulling out his map and traced his finger over the road he was on slowly, figuring out where he could go next and which city he was closest to at the moment. His finger stopped on Whiterun...he smiled bright.

Something shifted in the bushes behind him, his ears perking up and his eyes narrowed, slowly folding his map back into his pack and both hands went to the hilts of his swords. He turned around just as three bandits appeared before him, one holding a great sword and shouting,

"You picked a bad time to get lost, friend."

Layren sighed loudly...and here he was hoping for a peaceful walk to the city with little interruptions.

_~Whiterun~_

He made it to the city just as the sun was starting to lower in the sky and he grimaced. Stupid bandits, cutting into his time with their idiocy. They barely were able to lift their weapons before Layren sliced them all clean into two, his ebony swords dripping in dark crimson, the shade of his narrow eyes. It had been a quick death, too quick but Layren only faulted his developed speed for that.

He looted whatever they had as far as gold and any other smaller belongings, which hadn't been much, though he wasn't complaining. He had lived with bandits his entire life and knew they didn't carry much when out harassing and killing innocent people.

Whatever; he was just happy to finally make it to the city before it got dark. The gate guards knew him well enough by now, nodding to him (while giving him a knowing look) as the elf made his way into the city. And by the Almighty Divines....he loved this city.

He couldn't place why, but perhaps it was the people he enjoyed most. Brynjolf always said he had a bright smile and cheerful look to him, confidence booming once he made a name for himself. And Layren used that to his advantage everywhere he went. He was charming and sweet, only cold when he had to be. He spent so much of his life in pain and alone and abused....he didn't want that to become his future when Brynjolf saved him from his past.

The marketplace was his favorite place to be, especially around this time of day when it was just busy enough before closing. People recognized him and greeted him with smiles, some with scowls (fuck you too, Nazeem) and he returned them in kind, making his way to the meat stall ran by the kindly Bosmer, who was sweet enough to educate him on their race, answering questions Layren had that he neglected to ask his fellow guild member.

While he had been initially shocked the smaller elf knew only little about their people, he quickly understood when he saw the sour look when he asked about his family. He answered whatever questions the boy had and mentioned how beautiful their homeland of Valenwood was, how much he missed it and dreamt of going back one day.

Layren made a mental note to ask to come when that day ever happened...he truly wanted to see the homeland his blood was from...but even then, Skyrim was home and he was happy.

Today hadn't been about questions about Bosmer anything...this time, Layren had questions about the meats he sold. And he was happy to oblige.

\---

The marketplace wasn't the only area Layren loved to visit whenever he came to Whiterun...the Cloud District was another of his favorite places to sit and people watch when he could. He would sit under the beautiful Gildergreen tree (Danica still thanked him whenever she saw him) and admire the faces of everyone who walked by. There was always a small girl, couldn't be older than 10, who he always gave some gold to when she approached him, her toothy grin wide and all hugs when she saw him.

Then there was that huge building up the many steps...it looked like a toppled over sea vessel. Layren tilted his head and ate his apple as he watched many people coming in and out of that place, dressed in either heavy armor or pelts, from what animal, he could never tell. He overheard the guards praising them as they walked by, a simple 'Hail, Companion' and that was that. He grew curious over what that even meant and had asked that same guard about it once before.

"Don't even bother trying to mix yourself in with the warriors of Jorrvaskr. No chance they'd take a scrawny thing like you, much less an elf."

Ok, so, that was kinda rude, but Layren didn't think much of it as he went back to people watching, occasionally staring at the ones going into the large boat building...one of them, a man dressed in heavy armor with short dirty brown hair, locked gazes with him once and Layren flushed, looking away quickly to avoid conflict. The man simply gazed at him and walked away.

His time in Whiterun served to educate him further on things he never knew about, his favorite topic of study most days being the pantheon of the Divines. After his work in helping revive the giant tree, Danica answered his questions about her goddess, Kynareth, the lady of the wind and the elements. Layren was fascinated by this knowledge and Danica had made a suggestion to visit the temple of the Divines in Solitude...

He barely slept that night in the Bannered Mare, too giddy with the prospect of knowledge and understanding. He was excited.

_~Solitude~_

Layren had been to Imperial laced city of Solitude many times, yet it still amazed him how beautiful the place was. Granted, his first experience had been walking in on an execution...what a way to start the day.

He had only been here for business sadly, so his heart raced at the idea of finally getting to explore this place. He took a carriage here from Whiterun, much quicker than walking and his patience was nearly non existent when he awoke rather earlier in the dark morning. The city had just started to awaken as he made his way inside, shops opening and people going in and out in the inn.

He briefly wondered if Gulum-Ei was still in there, but he quickly pushed that to the side as he walked further into the city, children running by and the bustle of the marketplace caught his attention. It was here he discovered Spiced Wine and the friendly woman that sold it to him with a smile.

The walk he took into the residential of the city made him ponder what it would be like to live here, in a big house over the Sea of Ghosts...it made his heart clench. Perhaps one day he'd have a home to call his own. Riften was fine for now.

"Why does everyone ignore me? Why do you turn your heads? Will no one help me?"

It took maybe Layren a second to figure out where that desperate voice came from...or rather, it approached him without him even realizing it.

It was a man...or an elf, Layren gathered because of the eyes...eyes that looked black as night...like his swords. It was almost creepy, but he sounded frantic. Going on and on about how his master abandoned him and their home and how he was trying so hard to get him to come back.

Why Layren offered to help, he wasn't sure, but the man smiled at him and thanked him...profusely...and then handed him something wrapped in a cloth, 'can't into Pelagius's wing without that!' before scurrying away. The moment he was gone, Layren lifted one end of the cloth to see what he was given before immediately setting it back, a flush on his cheeks.

A hipbone....wonderful...logging that away for a later date. He stuffed the item into his pack, carefully, and decided that would be something he'd come back to when he wasn't feeling all that confused about it.

By the time he made it back to the Winking Skeever, it was night time. He was hungry and tired, eager to get back on the road first thing. As he sat and ate his venison stew, he peered over his map and tried to tick off where he wanted to go next. Dragon Bridge wasn't far; he'd been there before. But before he left, he had one important stop to make within the city.

_~Temple of the Divines~_

The amulet he wore seemed to warm him more than usual as he admired the busts of the Gods. The bandits only ever mentioned someone named Talos, and the Guild wasn't exactly the religious sort of people, and Layren was unfamiliar with that name, so he had been a little disappointed to find no bust with the mantal of that God. Though one of the priests had informed him as to why that was so...he was slightly perplexed at how a whole religion could be banned in a country as vast as Skyrim, but he didn't press it further. All he retained was something about the Dominion and the Thalmor...he had heard that word many times, but still didn't know what it meant...

Then again, he recollected his travels and recalled seeing a bunch of High Elves (Altmer? Was that their blood term?) traveling past him in such strange, golden armor, one elf wearing robes the likes of which Layren had never seen. He would acknowledge them with a nod (trying to be respectful to his fellow elves) and while some just nodded back and continued on their way, others would simply snap,

"You are interfering with official Thalmor business"

Ok, so he figured the Thalmor to be a sort of...law enforcement. And each time he saw them, they would be escorting a man...usually a Nord in rags...tied with ropes. It triggered Layrens anxiety and nerves, remembering how that was how he used to be dragged around most of his life and it burned him a little to see someone else go through that, Nord or anyone.

He played around with the idea of helping the man, seeing how he was given either a pleading look or a look of prideful disgust, but didn't act on it. It wasn't his business.

Shaking his head, Layren went back to admiring the busts, trying to remember all their names. The one that stuck out to him was that of a dragon...a dragon and a sword. His amulet burned soothingly against his skin and he pulled it free to admire how it began to glow a bright red color, hot against his hand but not unpleasantly. A priest came up to him and simply stared in awe at the amulet, asking how long he had been a follower of Akatosh.

The look Layren gave the priest was laced in complete confusion. The priest was rather helpful regardless.

When the boy left the temple, maybe hours longer than he intended, he felt happy and excited with all he learned, including things about his past he never imagined. The thing he carried around his neck for his entire life was an Amulet of Akatosh, dragon father to the gods. He didn't know why, but that made him feel rather special, to think he carried a piece of a dragon god around his neck.

The priest deduced that if this had been with Layren since he was a baby and no one was able to remove it (or even touch it) except himself (with several exceptions), then it stood to reason that one of Layren's parents was a devout follower of Akatosh and gifted this amulet to the elfling before their deaths, enchanting it with some sort of protection spell, though of what, the priest couldn't say.

It was optimistic and Layren felt a sense of peace upon hearing that theory. He would most likely never know, but he was happy to have some kind of answers about himself, even if they were just ideas.

He left Solitude later in the night, getting in a carriage and didn't specify really where to go, though he knew Dragon Bridge was close. As the carriage went on, Layren cast a mage light spell (really, his magicka control was getting better) so he could read one of his newest books, something he picked up at the inn called ' _The Talos Mistake.'_

It was...fascinating...in the sense that Layren wasn't too sure what the book was talking about, but the idea behind it kept his crimson eyes glued to the pages.

 _'But when Tiber Septim passed to_ _Aetherius_ _, there came to be a Ninth Divine - Talos, also called Ysmir, the "Dragon of the North." The man who was so loved in life became worshiped in death. Indeed, it can be argued that Talos, the Ninth Divine, became even more important than the Eight that had preceded him, at least to humans. For he was a god who was once just a man, and through great deeds actually managed to ascend to godhood. And if one human could achieve such a feat - couldn't it be done again? Couldn't all humans aspire to achieve divinity?_

_So we thought, we humans. And so we continued to worship Talos, and revere him as the ultimate hero-god. But that was then. This is now. And now, we know the truth:_

_We were wrong.'_

  
  


So wait...a man becoming a God? Was that even a real thing? Layren wiped his eyes with a fist before continuing, albeit with less enthusiasm then he had originally....though he could've been just tired.

  
  


_'But the citizens of the Empire must know this: the Emperor did not agree to outlaw the worship of Talos because it was demanded by the_ _Thalmor, the ruling body of the Aldmeri Dominion._

_The Emperor agreed to the outlaw of the worship of Talos because it was the right thing to do._

_Today, the Emperor, and indeed the Empire itself, recognizes that allowing the worship of Talos was a mistake. For by doing so, by allowing the worship of Talos as a Divine, the Empire actually did its people a great disservice: for this only succeeded in weakening the memory of the man Tiber Septim and his many extraordinary (though mortal) deeds; and pushing people away from the Eight Divines, the true gods, who do deserve our love and reverence._

_And so, the Empire admits it was wrong. The Talos Mistake will not be repeated. May we find centuries of peace and prosperity with our new Thalmor friends, and continue to share a spirituality that binds together all the cultures and races of Tamriel.'_

He shut the book and slightly tossed over the carriage, no longer interested. For reasons he couldn't figure out, something in the books contents didn't sit well with him and it made him grumpy. But again, that could be just him feeling worn out. Then again, considering the Thalmor 'friends' when the only interactions he'd had with them (allegedly) was in passing and they were always so stern and sometimes rude, stuffy, mouth breathers (Thank you Vex, for teaching him that term).

Whatever; he wasn't going to waste his time thinking about it. The mage light had since faded and Layren leaned back in the carriage, staring at the beautiful night sky and the colors of greens and pinks all around. The moons were bright and full, glowing with the intensity of his light...the amulet warmed his bones and it was enough to send the elf into a peaceful slumber, the rocking of the carriage easing his aching muscles for a time.

  
  


_~Markarth~_

  
  


He remembered his first time coming into the City of Stone...it hadn't been all that pleasant.

Watching a woman get murdered in broad daylight was something he had seen many times as a child, but it was nonetheless surprising every time he unintentionally witnessed it. The guards seemed unamused and not bothered, simply telling people to leave it alone.

It was also weird that a strange man approached him and gave him a note, acting like he had no clue what he was talking about. When he was alone and read it, it simply said,

  
  


_Meet me in the Shrine of Talos_

  
  


Ugh...again with that name. Layren had scoffed and stuffed the note in his pocket, forgetting about it for a long long while. Even now, as he reentered the city, he didn't bother with the paper. That's not why he was in Markarth today.

Supplies, food, maybe a nights rest, perhaps trading with Endon later, the usual. He wasn't too terribly friendly with the people here, but the people in Markarth were pretty tense in their own right and Layren saw no reason to make waves. There was also the Temple of Dibella he had heard about from one of the priests in Solitude, but advised him to stay away, as the temple didn't cater to men. It made his pointed ears droop a little, but he figured one day he'd get to see the place for himself.

He made his way up the stone walkways, waving to the ones who waved back, trying to remember where the forge was in the city. One of his ebony swords needed to be sharpened and he recalled the Orc woman who taught him how to smith and maintain his weapons properly. He hadn't had many good interactions with the Orcs so her teachings were a pleasant surprise, if not stern and slightly condescending. But she was a kind person all the same and he liked it when she taught him new things about working a forge, so he was eager to see her and her oddly motivated apprentice.

"Excuse me, do you know anything about this house? Seen anyone enter or leave?"

Oh right....that Vigilant he had heard people talk about at the inn. He had almost forgotten he was still here....who was his god again...Stendarr? Layren had seen him many times when he visited Markarth, but only ever wondered why he was so interested in this house. When he asked the first time to a passerby, they mentioned that the man was certain the house was used for Daedra worship.

A Daedra? That got Layrens overly curious brain working quickly. Again, something new and something that sounded exciting. He recalled Karliah mentioning Lady Nocturnal being a Daedra, something akin to the opposite of the Divines, a concept Layren was still trying to figure out. He was sort of invested in his studies of the gods, but the Daedra? There were obviously more than just Nocturnal and it seemed to interest him far more than the Divines did. And now he had some free time. If this man was interested in a Daedra infested house, perhaps the young elf could pick up more information about the beings themselves...so to speak. So he approached the man and asked if he needed some help. The man agreed and stepped inside. Layren followed with a wild grin on his face

\---

"That mace...get it away from me...get it away."

The guard sped walked away from the elf, who just stared at him while trying to piece together what exactly happened in the span of 3 days. It was like his body had been on autopilot. The house had certainly been a place for Daedra worship...he just didn't expect it to be THAT intense.

The Daedra known as Molag-Bal, lord of domination...Layrens blood went cold when he found himself trapped in the gods shrine, somehow finding his way into getting a priest here and killing him. It had happened so fast. And Molag-Bal had called him his champion...rewarding him with a mace black as his hair, but glowing a horrific green aura.

And for some reason, Layren felt...good. Really good. He should be terrified and shaken to the bone, but no. He felt wonderful. Looking at the mace he held, tracing the spikes gently with his fingertips, feeling the raw power of a Daedric Lord....he felt alive. Alive and suddenly much more curious.

And yes, he did feel a little sad when he was forced to kill that Vigilant, but really, he didn't have much of a choice. It was kill or be killed, such is the way of life. Layren knew that better than most.

Leaving the city was easy and suddenly felt like his blood was fueled with fire. He wanted more...of what, he didn't know, but he knew he wanted more of something. He sent a letter to Brynjolf and told him things were going well and how he was doing, how excited he was and how many stories he'd tell whenever he returned to Riften. It would still be a while, but Layren was hopeful. Ever the lust for life.

  
  


_~Windhelm~_

  
  


Layren hated this city...hated the people...most of them, anyway.

He hated the way the Dark Elves were treated here and to some extent, he was no exception. Being a Wood Elf, and a tiny one at that, he was also subject to ridicule and insults from the Nords here, especially the one who was always drunk to the nines...Rolff...it felt so good beating that man up for accusing a Dark Elf woman of being an Imperial spy, threatening her with violence. She was grateful for the boys help, though explained that this was nothing new to her and the other non Nord residents of the city.

Another reason he didn't care for this city was the way they treated their homeless...true, every city treated their homeless people practically the same way, but honestly...that little girl who sold him flowers slept in the open cold, for divines sakes. His first time meeting her broke his heart and he ended up buying her a hot meal from Candlehearth Hall (much to his annoyance). But her smile made up for it and every time he saw her, he would buy several of her flowers and buy her something sweet or hot, just to see her sweet smile again.

Then...then there was Aventus Aretino...gods, that poor kid. Layren only heard stories about what the boy was doing in his home after running away from Honorhall in Riften...he was very familiar with that place...killing Grelod was something he did on a whim, after watching her drag one of the other children by his hair around the orphanage. He hadn't been expecting it; he simply walked in, curious about the place after hearing rumors of the children being abused and witnessed it first hand...the boy was crying and kicking, trying to get her sharp nails from digging into his scalp. Layren had flashbacks then, seeing himself being dragged around by his long hair by bandits, who mocked him and stripped him naked to whip his back...his scars pulsed and he had never drawn one of his swords so quickly.

So imagine Aventus' surprise when the elf informed him Grelod was already dead. He was so happy and elated that he gave Layren a plate as a reward, a family heirloom he called it. The elf smiled and sold it as he was suggested, earning quite a bit of gold and went on his way. Now that he was back, he was curious to see how the boy was holding up since Grelod had been killed...though he never got around to it...Windhelm just annoyed him too much to bother anymore.

Why he wanted to come back here, ugh, it burned him a little. He didn't dare give a lot of the Nords here the time and day so he often trudged to the Gray Quarter, feeling much more welcome in the company of the Dunmer. They seemed like enjoy his company too; he was always quick to help them with their struggles as he could and they would educate him on the history of the Dunmer and Morrorwind, something Layren loved hearing about, especially when he found himself at the New Gnisis Cornerclub, chatting his night away with Ambarys. While he wasn't in the city for that, per say, he made a mental note to have a drink there when he was done with his supply shopping.

Though, sure enough, he was met with crude remarks and belligerent behavior as he payed for his lock picks from Niranye, who gave the Nords a chastising stare, trying to convince her Bosmer friend to not listen to those men, that they were drunks and shouldn't be given a second thought.

Layren didn't stay in Windhelm long.

  
  


_~Lorerius Farm~_

  
  


"Agh! Bother and befuddle! Stuck here! My mother, my poor mother! Unmoving...at rest, but too still!"

What a curious...person.. Layren tilted his head at the man circling the carriage, making odd gestures at the broken wheel and seemingly weeping. It was...rather dramatic, but overall not a huge annoyance.

He had been making his way back to Whiterun from Dawnstar on foot, feeling he needed the alone time after dealing with yet another odd case of Daedric interference...he sighed and rubbed his eyes...he thought Molag-Bal was a pain in the arse...he never wanted to hear the name Mehrunes Dagon ever again.

The elf recognized the farm he was coming up to and had been blindsided by the sight of a broken down carriage in his path...well, not really. But what really caught his attention was the man who was making a slight scene about it...dressed head to toe in black and red garbs, flaming red locks similar to that of his dear mentor, Brynjolf...Layren flushed a little and patted his cheeks to ease the heat. That hat is what really struck him as curious. He had never seen a hat like that before...just as dark as the rest of the mans clothes.

Ever the helpful soul Layren was, he approached the man and asked if he needed help. In not so short words, the man (who he later found his name was Cicero...ok then) explained that he was transporting his mother to a new crypt in Skyrim and their wagon wheel broke suddenly. He was clearly devastated about being late to bury his mother and Layren felt a weird ping in his chest. While he never had a mother himself, he could surely sympathize with the strange man in wanting to give his own mother a proper burial for loves sake.

It took some strong convincing, but Layren eventually got Ventus to get his tools and help fix Cicero's wheel, much to the jesters delight...his appreciation was met with a strong hug and being twirled around, though Layren didn't think to stop him. Hugs were something he only got from Bryn and even those were rather rare, so this was nice....strange, but nice.

Cicero then mentioned that while Layren had his own thanks, he also gained the pleasant favor of his mother, who never forgets. That....that was weird, right? Why would he say that? He didn't get a lot of time to think about it as he watched Ventus come down with his tools to fix the wheel and Layren decided he would be off. Cicero saw him off with yet another hug and hoped that they meet again in pleasant circumstances...Layren didn't even bother asking what that meant.

When he finally made it back to Whiterun, it was still pretty early in the day and he had been craving some freshly roasted venison from the Bannered Mare. His stomach growled and he winced, telling himself that he'd get some food soon.

He passed by the Khajiit caravans and smiled, hungry temporary forgotten as he sat and talked with them like he always did, reminded of the kindly Khajiit woman who helped him so many months ago...Ahkari...he really missed her.

The sun was still high in the sky when he bid them a good afternoon and started to walk towards the drawbridge...only to be stopped by a frantic courier, who said he had a note for him. When Layren who it was from, the courier only mentioned a man in a dark robe and that was that.

Interesting...Layren opened the note and titled his head, slightly bewildered and a chill went down his spine for a little more than a second. A hand print and two words that eventually made the elf sigh....

_We Know_

He stuffed the note in his pocket and carried on, no longer caring. Another mystery for another day, perhaps.

_~Dawnstar Sancutary~_

Where in the world did time go?

He splashed cold water on his face from the basin, overhearing Nazir give a contract to a new member of the family and his face brightened in pink...family...what a weird concept, even now.

Like most things in his life, everything happened so quickly and he was just now coming to terms with the events that changed his said life in a little under 2 months...wow.

He had heard stories of the Dark Brotherhood from Delvin and Bryjolf, only mentioning that Maven had connections with them as well and that the way they operate was...well...different. Killing was their occupation....Layren did like to kill when he had to, but this was way out of what he was used to. At least at the start. He already had a knack for murder as a child with the bandits and his time with the Guild strengthened that resolve. And now that he was part of...no... _Leading_ the Brotherhood, it gave him a sense of something he had no idea he had wanted.

Whereas the Guild gave him a sense of commodore....the Brotherhood gave him a sense of family. And wow...he didn't realize how much he wanted a family until he met up with Astrid again in Falkreath. And just like he had done with Mercer...he was forced to kill her too. But her death meant something better than how Mercer was killed for revenge and betrayal. Astrid died for the betterment of the family...and Sithis would judge her accordingly.

"Listener!!"

Layren jumped as arms wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him into a hug...he smiled. The jester was always so touchy when it came to the elf...for obvious reasons. Turning around to face the man, he was greeted with a smiling Imperial, who had a yellow flower tucked up in his hat...a Dragon's Tongue, if memories of Babette's teachings served him right.

Cicero noticed those dark red eyes trail up to his hat and his grin widened, removing the flower and tucked a strand of the elfs hair behind his pointed ear, settling the flower and admired the small elf in his arms.

"A pretty flower for the pretty Listener."

Layren flushed and chuckled, eventually laughing loudly when he heard Nazir scoff in their direction, telling Cicero to leave the Listener be and go back to tending the Night Mother. Cicero obeyed, but not before giving the elf a loud kiss to the cheek, making Layren laugh again and Nazir rolled his eyes, going back to his papers while the jester skipped up the stone steps to the mothers shrine.

Layren smiled and rubbed the spot where he was kissed, yet another new feeling he was trying to get used to. These sorts of affections Cicero gave him were vastly different than what Brynjolf gave him. A rare hug here and there, pats on the shoulder or a ruffling of his hair, it was nice. The one time Brynjolf kissed him was on his forehead at Nightgate Inn after Mercer was killed. Layren had woken from a nightmare and the man quickly calmed him down, dry lips against his skin, but it was more than enough to ease Layren back into an uneasy slumber.

Cicero was so...open with his affections to him. Hugs every chance he got, kisses to his face which always made him smile...one of Layrens favorites was at night when he couldn't sleep...without thinking, he would have Cicero crawl under the sheets with him and hold him, asking for stories about Sithis and The Night Mother to help him sleep...Cicero always obliged, ever the obedient Keeper. He would talk and talk, softly so as not to wake the elf when he eventually fell asleep...sometimes he stayed the whole night.

Having a family was nice, if that's what this was. Layren found a purpose with the Guild and a loving family with the Brotherhood. What more could he even ask for.

_~4 months later_

_Helgen~_

Death was not something Layren was unused to as well as a whole lot of other realities in life. But he always figured he'd die doing something for the Guild or he would perish in service to the Night Mother, welcomed home to Sithis or to Nocturnal. Hell, he'd almost rather die out in the open world adventuring, doing what he loved to do...explore and travel.

But not like this...not under a headsman's axe...not for something he didn't even do.

He barely remembered how he got here...he knew he was leaving Ivarstead with a new Brotherhood Initiate, for what he couldn't recall and they had stopped when they noticed a group of Imperials ambushing a group of Nords. It hadn't been their business, so they opted to sneak away.

But Layren had a sinking feeling in his gut...something bad was happening here and his heart froze midbeat in his chest. Without much thought, he gave his swords, his gold and his pack to the Initiate, telling her to run back to the Sanctuary and keep his things safe for him. She was confused and obviously worried, but he told her to go and to tell Nazir not to worry about him, that he'd be home soon...that he had a feeling in his chest and told her to trust him.

She nodded and told him she'd pray for his safe return, running up the hill with his things and out of sight. No sooner had she left Layrens vision, his world went black and he woke up in rags in a carriage with people he didn't recognize...save for one Ulfric Stormcloak.

The entire situation made Layren suddenly realize that he wasn't able to return to the Brotherhood...they would lose another Listener and the Guild would lose their Guild Master...and no one would know. The Initiate would more than likely tell Nazir and the others that he would come home eventually...they'd wait in vain and Cicero would be crushed. Brynjolf would be livid, but saddened...so this was the end, huh?

Oh well.

At least he lived his new life with purpose. He had been free and his life had been wonderful.

When it was his turn for the axe, he sighed and made his way to the block, forced to his knees and awaited sweet death.

The amulet around his neck, still unable to be removed anyone other than himself, started to burn his skin...and not pleasantly as it used to his whole life. It was angry...the aura was warning him of something and it continued to burn him, almost hurting him.

It suddenly stopped...right as his eyes caught the sight of a huge black dragon landing above them, halting everything around them. Its eyes were as red as Layrens own crimson orbs, though the elfs eyes were wide with fear and horror...the dragons eyes were full of hate and power. It released a petrifying roar and everything descended into chaos.

_~The 7,000 Steps~_

If you had asked Layren many, many months ago that his life would lead him to freedom in more than one way, that his existence truly had purpose, enough to lead him the majesty that was The 7,000 Steps....that he was...Dragonborn...the Nordic hero of legend and song...Dovahkiin, a mortal being of dragon blood and soul...he would've upright called you mad. And that would be putting it lightly, considering the madman he lived with in Dawnstar.

Yet here he was, ready to ascend these stone steps to a place where he was told his destiny would be translated better. The Amulet of Akatosh warmed his bones again, giving him confidence and courage, but deep down...he was worried for himself. He knew nothing of this power he suddenly had, the way he shouted for the Whiterun guards...it was like he always knew how to do it. The _FUS_ felt like he was simply talking and yet it was so strong, it actually knocked a few guards back a step or two. They were amazed and astounded, praising him while the Dunmer housecarl shrugged it off, staring at the skeletal remains of the dragon that this tiny Bosmer took down like it was nothing to him.

Then came the sound that vibrated the sky when he returned to Jarl Balgruuf...

_DO...VAH...KIIN_

Such a powerful sound, yet full of....something Layren was determined to figure out. When the Jarl explained that the Dragonborn was a warrior from legend who had the ability to shout like a dragon and adsorb their power through their souls...Layren knew this was bigger than himself. He was chilled again, but not as badly as he first thought. The fact that he, a young Bosmer barely out of his 70s, was the hero of Nordic praise....he felt smug, but only for a moment.

And so he was given the opportunity to learn about his gift from men called the Greybeards...if they knew anything of his so called power, he'd be an idiot not to seek them out.

With his weapons back in his possession, ebony swords and an enchanted elven dagger gifted to him by the Initiate who he trusted with his belongings, along with a new found sense of purpose, Layren clutched his amulet to his chest and said a silent prayer...not to Nocturnal...not to Sithis and not to the Night Mother...but to Akatosh.

A prayer that he would find more of himself with his new discovery and hoped to learn about why he was his chosen to carry The Voice in this generation of men and elves.

As he began the long stretch up the mountain, he thought he had vuagley heard the sound of a powerful roar...the roar of a dragon...a non threatening one at that...at the peak of the mountain he was currently climbing.

He, not so calmly, told himself that was Akatosh telling him that all was well and that he would find his answers soon...with that, he continued his journey, feeling his amulet once again burn his skin pleasantly. It gave him more strength and courage to carry his weight up and he suddenly felt alive once again, eager for more knowledge and more adventure...and he was excited.

At least for the time being. 

**Author's Note:**

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